Boom
31 Boom I wake up as rabbits; nothing but fur against fur, a rabbit in ruins, twin spires of my ears eavesdropping on conversations, the asymptote of me forever rising, forever falling, offering myself at market in exchange for fare. I burrow below the Treasury Building, chomping on silver shavings, glowing E Pluribus Unum at night (dreaming of my cousin of haute couture lying against a woman’s back, my matted sister, skinned brother), glistening like Dubai silk on LCD billboards tracking homes, begotten like rabbits but never built. 32 Once I became blind as a bunny who nursed at the teat of my dog, Elsa, winning fourth prize at the jumbo fair. Clare claimed everyone had to win something because of inflation and the new judges. My blue-ribbon reading: A Rabbit’s Rabbit for the Cold Man in the Moon. ...
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